


Peer Pressure

by calvinahobbes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexuality, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-20
Updated: 2010-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calvinahobbes/pseuds/calvinahobbes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John isn't interested, and he doesn't think Sherlock is either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peer Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> John is heterosexual and Sherlock is asexual. Beta by neekabe.

For the longest time, John struggles against it. He fights every single stranger's expectation of him, of his relationship with Sherlock. "It's not like that," he says, and a thousand variations thereof, while Sherlock is busy licking blood off crime-scenes or looking superior or staring out the restaurant window. He has absolutely no interest in defending John's honor, and makes it perfectly clear in that unkind and selfish way he has that any such pedestrian concern as who fucks who is thoroughly beneath him. Unless it can be used to prove how brilliant he is.

Their relationship really isn't like that. What Sherlock offers John is excitement ( _war_ , his mind whispers, but he firmly ignores it), and companionship. He never offers sex, as a matter of fact he makes it painfully clear from the start that John should expect no such thing from him.

John is 40 years old. He has been to uni and in the military. John has, in fact, spent more than twenty years dating other people, having sex with them, committing to them, and breaking up with them. It's not like he's some sexually stilted Victorian or anything. He's had offers -- all kinds of offers, from people twenty years his junior to people twenty years his senior. From the timid to the self-assured. Women, men, and one or two who were adamant about the absolute irrelevancy of the gender binary (John listened carefully). He's a doctor, after all. You meet people. In other words, John has had every opportunity to experiment but he has never had any urge to. He has never looked at a man and been attracted to him.

John is not attracted to Sherlock Holmes. He has ample time and opportunity to study him, both in a flurry of activity (bullets flying, bombs going off) and in the stifling quietude (boredom) in between cases. Every time a stranger assumes they are a couple, every time Mrs. Hudson addresses John like the lady of the house, he is forced to think about it. Perhaps at first, his own internalized homophobia takes control of him when he objects so vehemently to the idea. But once the tenth person in a week had given him a knowing smile, or a wink, or a disapproving frown, he had no choice but to _think_ about it.

They live together. John does the shopping. And the cooking. And the cleaning. Sherlock can't be bothered. He disappears far into his own mind for days at a time, and it's all John can do to make sure he eats. Sherlock has a tendency to take him for granted. He bosses him around, entirely regardless of whether there are other people around. Sometimes, when John is finally at the end of his rope, they argue, and Sherlock can become really spectacularly angry. Sometimes (all the time) when they bicker, John must admit they sound awfully much like an old married couple. And sometimes they share a joke so private it would take weeks to explain, and a humor as sick as theirs to appreciate. Sometimes (all the time) they share secrets, deep and private ones, wordlessly and with such respect and care for each other that John often feels something inside him break and mend again. All the time, from the second time they met, they share a wholly unique sense of camaraderie, which eventually translates into fondness. Love.

John has lived with three different girlfriends during his lifetime. It will be another year before he has lived with Sherlock longer than any of them, but John has no doubt that the day will come and go, wholly unremarked by them both.

He tries not to wonder. He tries to take everything in stride, like Sherlock seems to. He tries to appreciate what they share and not wonder about it, not create some problem which isn't there in the first place. He's happy, he realizes, and Sherlock is, well... not killing himself or anyone else, so: well-balanced (and fed) at least.

So what would really change if they _were_ together? Sherlock would in all likelihood be as obnoxious as ever; John really can't imagine how that would change. Sherlock would be as demanding and selfish in bed as he is out of it; would either require John provide orgasms like it were Sherlock's birthright to receive them, or he would want to be entirely in control and expect John to stay still for hours while Sherlock studied every inch of him, every tiny response. John would, presumably, be well taken care of, content in that way one is when one has a steady supply of orgasms from a (somewhat) reliable source. Nothing else would really change, he thinks. They already live in each other's pockets.

But John doesn't _want_ it. He can imagine, in detail as well as in much broader strokes, what a sexual relationship with Sherlock would be like, but it doesn't get him off. The only reason he has trouble letting it go is, well... It seems like everybody else likes to think they know what he wants. Try as he might, John can't help but wonder whether everyone else might be right. Maybe he's missing some clue. Maybe he's not as modern and liberated as he thinks he is. Maybe he's in love with Sherlock and doesn't realize it.

Sherlock has two ways of obtaining information: 1) Deduction, which is his favorite. John tries to deduce whether he wants to sleep with Sherlock, tries to look at the case from all angles, examines testimonies (strangers, Mrs. Hudson, Donovan, Harry). But no matter how much he thinks about it, he cannot figure it out. 2) Experimentation, which Sherlock also seems to enjoy thoroughly, whether it involves paint or eyeballs or perverting sports equipment. John starts out by himself, pulling off and thinking of Sherlock. The results seem inconclusive: he comes, but he's not sure whether it's normal physical reaction or something more. The next step seems logical.

John kisses Sherlock. They've come home from a minor consulting case which managed to be twisted enough to draw Sherlock's attention initially but ended up untangling neatly like one of Mrs. Hudson's knitting projects the minute Sherlock's formidable mind deduced which thread to pull. The case has left John refreshed and Sherlock morose, which lead inevitably to slightly more bitter than usual bickering as they make their way home. John has no idea why he chooses that moment, but once they're in the door he grabs Sherlock by the arms and presses him up against the wall. He presses their mouths together aggressively, crowding up against his tall friend, and waits for something to happen. He waits to feel proof either way. He waits for Sherlock to kiss him back. Nothing happens.

Sherlock seems to have frozen against him. Even his lips (soft, full, dry, slightly cool) seem stiff and unresponsive, but he doesn't pull away. John examines himself, takes stock, and deduces: not interested. He pulls back with a sinking sensation, eyes flicking up to Sherlock's to gauge what will happen next. He lets go of Sherlock's arms, steps back a little. His throat clicks when he swallows. Sherlock isn't looking at him, staring pointedly at one of the steps on the staircase. "I'm..." John starts, but the sound of his voice sets Sherlock in immediate motion, and he takes the stairs three at a time, rushing into his room and slamming the door behind him. John sinks down onto the bottom step with a sigh.

Sherlock doesn't emerge for over twenty four hours. John is trying to give him space, but he is growing steadily more nervous, imagining all the ways this could turn out, feeling more certain every minute that he has managed to do the one thing Sherlock won't forgive. He is just about to go make some tea and toast to bring up as a peace offering, when Sherlock appears in the door.

"I told you in the beginning: I'm married to my work. I assumed that you had understood, but I guess I wasn't being clear enough. I have no interest in sex or kissing whatsoever. With anyone. I don't like it. I don't see the point. Nonetheless, I am, quite apparently, terribly fond of you, John, and I do hope we can move beyond this." Sherlock's gaze flicks around the room in a manner wholly unlike his usual glib self. "Please don't take it to mean that I don't want to live with you, because I do. In fact, you are the only person I have any desire to share my life and work with."

He doesn't deflate after his speech. He simply keeps standing in the doorway, impossibly tall and proud. But John can see through that veneer by now, and can tell just how nervous and uncomfortable Sherlock really is. Suddenly John thinks this is by far the craziest thing that he has ever done. He begins to laugh, hard and unstoppably. Sherlock purses his lips, which makes John laugh even more.

"Oh, oh!" he gulps eventually, several minutes later. "Oh, I must be barking! I've finally gone round the twist." He laughs again. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I apologize. I am terribly fond of you, too. I just have no interest in having sex with you! I'm straight!" He laughs again, doubling over this time. The familiar delicate crease is forming on Sherlock's forehead. John has approximately seven seconds to explain himself or suffer Hell. "I thought all those people might have a point. That they might know something I didn't when they kept insisting we must be a couple. I suppose I got turned 'round a little." He sighs and wipes his eyes.

Sherlock lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Really, John. You are a grown man, but somehow you think perfect strangers who know nothing about you have a better insight into your sexuality than you do! You really are exceptionally dense sometimes." He crosses to the kitchen and begins to prepare tea and toast for two. John leans back in the armchair and shakes his head, at himself, at Sherlock, at life.

The day comes and passes, much as John predicted. In fact, so many days pass that he has been living with Sherlock for nearly two years longer than anyone else before he notices. He doesn't wonder anymore, but some days he wishes. Some days he wishes that Sherlock could provide him with every thing he would ever want or need in life, because it would be so much simpler and easier that way. But over-all John appreciates that life isn't simple or easy -- makes it much more interesting.


End file.
